The Brooklyn Rail

Mesoamerican communities considered volcanoes and mountains as divine entities that double as connections between the earth and the sky. To this day, they retain their original names—Popocatépetl, Iztaccíhuatl, Citlaltépetl—preserving memory and ancestorship. From a hydrological perspective, the summits of these entities also have a direct influence on precipitation indexes. This knowledge has endured in communities residing both at the foothills and afar, fostering territorial defense, environmental care and spiritual connections.

In this context, the exhibition Río de Niebla, Río de Adobe, Río de Sangre by Tania Ximena delves into how mountain ranges play an essential role in the life of surrounding biomes and urban centers. Through intensive research, she creates paintings and video installations that map the journey from the North Glacier located in Citlaltépetl—or Pico de Orizaba—to the Jamapa River, inhabited by an Afro-Mestizo population, flowing into Boca del Río, a small town south of Veracruz, a port city in Southeastern Mexico. The artist invites us to engage in deep listening to the voice of a glacier, a river and living organisms that inhabit Mexican territory.

Upon entering the exhibition, the viewer cannot help but feel a change in light, transitioning from the harsh white sun of this time of year in Mexico City to a murky ambience at the main nave of the former convent of Santa Teresa, now Ex Teresa Arte Actual, a public museum founded in 1993 with a reputation for showing experimental proposals. This intention to distort light is not arbitrary, bearing in mind Tania Ximena's insight that being in the mountains can alter one's vision and thoughts. The sensations felt by the audience through their bodies is patent: we are suddenly deep in the mountain fog.

Gradually, one’s eyes adjust to the penumbra, and like a divine triad, Río de niebla, Río de sangre and Río de Adobe—three large-format paintings created specifically for the exhibition, floating in the main nave—reveal the voice of Jamapa. The geometric shapes of these works place us in a marshy landscape of rocks and forest in agony, not static but generating shadows, breathing, and embracing us with movement. Being in the landscape is experiential, as the artist states about her practice. We inhabit it, and it inhabits us. It is not a Westernized vision of fear and control over immensity but a perspective of cooperation and respect for territory.

I recently read that the first sound heard by a living organism was likely perceived due to its interaction with water. This idea made me gaze at the profound history of this liquid and its importance for life on the planet. The glacier located in Citlaltépetl, over 5,000 meters above sea level, nourishes a river, fertilizes its lands, and supplies water to millions of people. How could one listen to water in its journey from the highest peak in Mexico to the lull of the waves crashing onto the shore? Devenir, a 2021 video work, is installed in a small chapel at the entrance of the exhibition. The POV of a drone guides us through the movements and sounds of water—its vitality and the ever-present threat of desiccation.

This premise is further explored in the three-channel video installation Río de Niebla: Glaciar, Río de Adobe: Poblado afromestizo de Jamapa, Río de Sangre: Boca del Río (2024), focusing on the sounds and subjectivity of the glacier, the river, and the sea. This is achieved through the presence of three collaborators: Guillermo Ontiveros, a glaciologist studying the glacier's behavior; Fernando Vélazquez, who traverses the river daily collecting objects and stories; and Carmen Toca, a retiree from Mexico City who decided to move to southern Mexico. What remains of water when it is no longer present? The characters in the video, human and non-human beings, are deeply connected to the waters of Jamapa, serving as storytellers of the imminent death of the glacier.

The third installation comprises the large-format painting Mi mente y la montaña están en constante estado de erosión (2021) and the ceramic works En este gran cañón hubo un glaciar (2016–19). Guided by the glaciologist’s voice, we explore the glacier's evolution, reminiscing about the sandy-colored residuum that retains the scratches of the fragmented glacier colluding onto the stone. These objects represent fossilized memories of the glacier, documenting its life course.

In Río de Niebla, Río de Adobe, Río de Sangre, a diverse array of voices converges to narrate the story of a territory crucial for life beyond human existence. It highlights the current ecological breakdown and the need for adaptation in the face of irreversible change. Confronted with the unsettling absence of the glacier, Tania Ximena’s work remains steadfastly in the present, acknowledging the irreversible path towards the future that is not anymore pure speculation but a here-and-now event.